


Merely Saving Your Life

by PFT221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFT221B/pseuds/PFT221B
Summary: "Thirty-one days. One entire month Sherlock! Do you not care at all how you spend them? They're your last you know." "I do know that John! I'm just not sure if I really care anymore..." I stared into the detective's cold eyes. "Well I do. And if you're not going to continue then I won't either."





	1. Chapter 1

John's P.O.V.

Four years ago my best friend faked his own suicide. For two of those four years I had to live without even the knowledge he was still alive. When he finally came back I was in the middle of a date, getting ready to propose to my wife. Our reunion did not go well. I beat the poor man up quite a few times. While I was furious that for two years I had thought I had lost him all he could think of was if I was planning on keeping my mustache or not.

I did eventually shave it off. My wife said it was because Sherlock hated it. I said that wasn't why. But in all reality it was. I did shave for Sherlock Holmes. Now I'm glad I never admitted it.

I'm glad for various reasons. Me writing this seems a lot less awkward. Plus it's a lot less painful. I guess I should explain. I have a lot of followers on here who will soon be reading this, hoping for more information on the recent happenings. I would have to be crazy not to write about it. I would have to be a sociopath to write about it. But it comes back to what I told Sherlock a long time ago. People want to know you're human. So without putting to much emotion and pain into this, I'm going to write about what exactly happened on our last case. Our very last case.

There's been a few theories recently that say Sherlock won't live to see tomorrow. Unfortunately that's very close to true. Way to close. He will live to see tomorrow. He'll live to see exactly thirty-one tomorrows. And I'm going to do the best I possibly can to tell you about those thirty-one days. But be aware. After I write about day thirty, he won't be here anymore. When that's done I'll do the last day. And then I'm shutting down this this blog and moving far away from 221B Baker Street. Mary and I have been thinking about moving to America. After this is all over we will be.

So allow me to take you through the last thirty-one days of Sherlock. The last thirty-one days of the Sherlock Holmes and John Watson team.


	2. Chapter 2

John's P.O.V.

It has been a long day at work. The first thing on my mind was to get home and shower. Flipping off the lights in my office, I clocked out.

"Goodnight June. See you in the morning." I called to the receptionist.

She waved back. "Goodnight John!"

The slowly closed behind me as I walked to my car. It was almost dark. Darker than when I usually left work. Granted I had been in a meeting that took two hours longer than expected. Driving through the dark streets of London, I made my way home. Climbing out of the car my keys jingled as I worked to unlock the front door. Mary was on a business trip in Ireland for two months and our daughter, Sherby, had gone with her. Dispite what I had told Sherlock, we had named her after him in some way.

Chuckling at the thought slightly, I open and closed the front door. Hanging up my coat, I walked into the living room and stopped abruptly when I saw them both sitting there.

"Sherlock, Mycroft. Pleasant surprise seeing you two here." my eyebrow slowly raised up. "Would you like some tea or have you already helped yourselves to that too?" I asked, sarcasm lacing my voice.

Sherlock more than willing played along. "Oh, no thank you. I have a cup." he raised the cup slightly off the table.

"You're finally here. We've been waiting for three hours." Mycroft snapped sharply.

The two brothers looked nervous as if something was wrong. I may not have been Sherlock Holmes, but you didn't have to be to see the tension in the room. I slowly sat down, the worst case scenarios flashing through my head. Thinking of Mary and Sherby, a sense of dread came about me.

Sherlock quickly sensed it. "Don't worry. They're both fine. This is about... Someone else."

The dread changed to surprise as Sherlock hesitated. He never hesitated about anything. If he was hesitating and both Holmes brothers were sitting in front of me something had to be wrong.

"Okay what is it? What's so important you couldn't even text or call me before coming over here? There was a meeting I had to attend that ran way late, so if you had called, I could've saved you a few hours of waiting." I glanced between Sherlock and Mycroft.

Mycroft continued to glare at me and Sherlock cast his eyes towards the floor. I started to get up and walk away, not carrying that the two still sat there. I went to close the door to the bathroom when I heard Sherlock say my name.

"John wait. We need to talk to you." he said.

I laughed slightly. "I gathered that much. But all you two did was sit and stare."

"I can't talk to you about it. Mycroft has all the information. Said you should know about this first. Which means it's about me. Though you would think that if it was about yourself you would have all rights to know." Sherlock snarked, with a famlier tone of disgust.

I bit back a laugh, trying to be somewhat serious. "This is Mycroft. Does he ever tell anyone anything."

"If you two would shut up for a second, I would. This is an important matter. Not something you should be laughing about."

"I'm sorry Mycroft. You're just way too gullible that way. Please go on." I gave the older Holmes a half hearted apology.

He glared at me once more. "I shall. Let's see... Ah, yes. We have a case for the two of you. And before you say I don't solve crimes mysteries anymore, John, may I say this one is required. It's about a small terrorist cell. We hadn't given it much thought until lately when some national secrets suddenly started to become public news and not just to England, but to the world."

"What type of secrets?" Sherlock questioned.

Mycroft turned a sad, worried eye on him. "Like the secret that in exactly thirty-one days you are going to die."


	3. Chapter 3

John's P.O.V.

"What! Since when?!" I blurted. "How does he only have thirty-one days to live?! Sherlock! How is this possible? You never told me anything! What's going on here!"

Sherlock held his hands up in defence. "I was just told right before we came here! Don't get all angry at me." he retorted.

My mouth formed a tight grim line. Turning back towards Mycroft, I asked, "Okay then. Since you're the one who knows this all, please, explain."

The older Holmes brother cast a guilty look downwards. "In thirty-one days we have an execution planned. It was just to be for criminals who the queen wanted dead. Somehow though, Sherlock got on the wrong side of someone and..." Sherlock cut him off with a laugh.

"Me? Get on the wrong side of someone? That would never happen. So how did this rally happen? You must've been involved somehow." the sarcasm was so thick in his voice you could've cut butter with it.

"No I wasn't. If I was, I wouldn't be warning you that you have a giant group of British assassins following you, waiting for the word to kill you."

Sherlock glared, and Mycroft glared back. "I don't even wonder why I can't believe you. You've lied to me so many times I can't even tell when my brother is telling the truth."

"Damn it Sherlock! For once could you actually just listen? I'm trying to protect you here!" Mycroft yelled.

"Why?"

"Because I care about you! I know a sociopath like you wouldn't even think about caring for anyone, never less your own brother, for even a second, but I'm not a sociopath." the venom from Mycroft's words sunk into Sherlock.

The detective quickly shut up. Sinking back in the chair he was sitting in, I could've sworn I saw a tear slide down his check. I wanted to say something, but found myself unable to. Instead I continued to look towards Mycroft for answers.

"Back to the point. Thirty-one days to solve this case. If you fail, you will die. If you succeed, we may be able to fake your death again. But even that is a slim chance." Mycroft continued.

Sherlock's head shot up. "No. I will not do that again. I cannot do that again. I saw what happened last time and refuse to let it happen again." a quick flash of anger went across his face.

"So you just want to die instead?"

I watched the two brothers, praying Sherlock said no. "Yes. It's better than pretending again."

I bit my lip and started to get up. "Where are you going?"

I flinched. "Sounds like you both need to work some things out. Was going to give you some personal space."

"Actually, here's the case files. Read over them and try to solve it. Just remember it's this case for your life." the older Holmes handed them to Sherlock. "One more thing. I don't want you to die Sherlock. You may not care, but I do and there are others out there. One is sitting right in front of you. just remember that."

Mycroft stood up to leave. "Goodbye John. Thanks you for putting up with us." he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Then, nodding sharply, he address his brother. "Sherlock."

"Mycroft."

The tension between the two was incredibly clear. Straightening his suit coat, he left the house. We both watched him answer a call and get into a black car. It drove away and I turned back to Sherlock, trying to hide the worry in my eyes.

"Stop trying. It's still plain as day." Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

"Well then, in that case, what are we going to do Sherlock?" I tilted my head, a clear sign that I was thinking.

"Well," he began, "first we'll solve this case. We have thirty-one days to do it in. That should be more than enough time and then we discuss other matters."

"How about we discuss 'other matters' now and then solve the case." I suggested.

He raised his eyes to heaven. "Or we could do that. What is there to talk about? I'm going to die in thirty-one days. I'm not faking my death again, and there's no way to call off the assassins. I'll solve the case, say my goodbyes, and go and wait up in my flat. It's simple as that." the detective shrugged, picking up his nearly cold cup of tea and taking a sip.

"Thirty-one days. One entire month Sherlock! Do you not care at all how you spend them? They're your last you know."

"I do know that John! I'm just not sure if I really care anymore..."

I stared into the detective's cold eyes. "Well I do. And if you're not going to continue then I won't either."

"What did you just say?" he turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"You heard me! If you aren't going to continue than I won't either!" I said slightly to loud.

It instantly quieted Sherlock, and he stood up, straightening his coat. His face held no emotion except a slight tinge what could be described as sadness. He blinked once, and picked up the case files off the table. Placing them in my hands, he looked me square in the eye.

"Well then, Doctor Watson. I'd like to see you solve this on your own."

He proceeded to the door, not even looking back. Sherlock put his hand on the doorknob and went to turn it, except he then hesitated. Turning his head towards me, he gave a grim smile.

"Oh, and by the way. John I thought you should know that I'm sorry." he laughed quietly.

"For what? Sherlock come back here and explain. Now." I demanded.

Sherlock laughed again. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Good bye John."

"Sherlock! Wait..." the door slammed quickly, cutting me off.

"I don't understand..."


	4. Chapter 4

John's P.O.V.

I tilted my head back a let out a giant yawn. I had been over these files around twenty times. None of it though made sense. Nothing made any sense at all.

Glancing at the clock, I groaned softly. Four A.M. I had to be to work in two hours and a half. Well I had to leave for work. I got up, stuffing the stupid case files in drawer. As an after thought I locked them in the small safe Mary and I had bought for our few valuables.

I made coffee and showered, something I had wanted to do last night, before I was rudely interrupted. Dispite that, I was still extremely worried. It wasn't like Sherlock to just walk out on a case like he did. He had also called me Doctor Watson. Something he never did. Not even when we first met. I guess I had took it to far, especially by assuming he was going to just give up.

I got in my car and just sat there. I had to leave for work in ten minutes, but did I really want to go there? Dialing the number for the cloak in desk, I decided to make up an excuse just this'll once.

"East London Doctor's Office. How may I help you?"

"June, hi. This is John Watson. I'm not feeling very well today. I'm afraid I can't come in." I lied, adding a small cough or two to the end, which ended up turning into a full out coughing fit.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry. I'll be sure to tell Doctor Adiline so she can split up your patients. Get well soon!" her chippy voice came through the headset.

I coughed again. "I plan to. Well have a good day! Bye."

"Bye."

Disconnecting the call, I started the car, and slowly made my way to Sherlock's flat. I entered and smiled softly as I heard violin music. It was a tune I hadn't ever heard before, so I concluded he must've been composing. Mrs. Hudson came out and gave me hug, talking about how long it had been since she had last seen me. Telling me she would bring Sherlock and I some tea, I went upstairs and pushed the door open.

Sure enough, there he was, composing new music once more. I waited until he had finished the verse to speak.

"That was very nice. What are you going to call it?" I asked.

The detective didn't even flinch. "I'm not sure yet. I still have three verses to go."

"Sherlock, look I'm sorry about what I said. It's just..." I tried to apologize, but was quickly interrupted.

"No John. Don't even go there. We were stressed. I get it."

I shook my head. "I don't think you do. Sherlock, we need to talk. And not just about last night. Those case files made no sense. I read them twenty times over."

"Did you bring them with you?" he questioned.

"No, they're locked in the safe at my house."

Grabbing his trench coat and turning up the collar, he gave me a crazed smile. "Well then to your house we go. Mrs. Hudson! We won't need that tea after all!" he shouted down the stairs.

We both walked out of the flat and got a cab, forgetting I had a car my self. Personally though, I didn't mind. My smile broadened and I saw one break out on Sherlock's face.

The game was on.

Three Hours Later

"There's nothing here!" Sherlock shouted, slamming the files down on the table. "We've been through these a hundred times! How in the world did Mycroft expect us to solve a case with this information!?"

I flinched slightly at the yelling. I had never seem him so frustrated before. But then again, he had a solid point. There was nothing in these files. No names, no hot spots, no victims. We didn't even have the group's name. We only had one lead and that lead had already been crossed off as a dead end by Sherlock and Mycroft. There was no way to solve this.

"Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid! Come on Sherlock! This is so simple Anderson could solve it! Think!" he yelled at himself.

He got up and started to pace, mumbling under his breath something about being an idiot. I placed my hand on his shoulder and he spun around, surprised.

"What?!" he spat.

"Calm down. We'll figure this out. Together. Like we always do. We haven't failed before and we won't fail this time. Let's sit down and look over it one more time."

He nodded. "You're right. Let's just try again," he sat down on the edge of the chair.

I noticed his hands were extremely shaky and how tired he seemed. His eyes were dull and he was very pale. When I tried to reach out to touch him, his flinched and smacked my hand away.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" I questioned. "I think you should go lay down, get some rest."

"That might be a good idea," he agreed without any arguing.

Now I knew something was up. Any other time Sherlock would've argued none stop with me. I pointed towards a room down the hall.

"You can use the spare room. Second door on your right. Do you need any help?"

"No I should be fine. Just keep working on the case. We have to solve this," he demanded.

The detective got up and walked in the room. I watched the door close behind him before returning to the case files. Not even ten minutes later I heard a crash.

"Sherlock? You okay in there?" I shouted.

When I got no response, I headed towards the room. When I opened the door, I gasped, shocked by what I saw.

"Oh god... Sherlock!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I'd like to mention. I wrote this before I saw season four, and so some things may be off. I've seen all of season four now, but will not be writing any of It into the story or changing it. Thank you.
> 
> Best Regards,  
> PFT221B


	5. Chapter 5

John's P.O.V.

I rushed over to the fallen detective, ignoring the rest of the room, which was covered in shattered glass and some blood. I quickly checked for a pulse, relieved when I found one. It was then, when my medical training kicked in. Dull eyes, shaky hands, pale skin. That was all part of someone who had been recently poisoned. It didn't matter what type of poison, all those symptoms were constant.

"Hold on Sherlock, I'll be right back." I told him running towards the bathroom.

I grabbed the first aid kit, which had more than the everyday version, soaked a washcloth in water and and brought the hydrogen proxcide along with a small cup. I got back down on my knees alongside Sherlock. Checking quickly for a pulse again, I called an ambulance and started to do what I could. First I wiped the wet washcloth across his face, helping cool the fever that, if not controlled, would kill him quicker than anything. Laying it on his forehead, I moved up. Opening the first aid kit, I grabbed out a special epi pen made to help slow blood flow in case of an allergy. In this case it would help the poison. I stabbed it into the side of his thigh and counted to ten before removing it. I massage the entry spot for ten more seconds before moving to the last thing to do. He was unconscious so this would be more difficult, but not impossible. I poured hydrogen peroxide into the cup, filling it about half way. Tilting his head back and opening his mouth, I poured it in, little by little. Pressing just right on his throat he swallowed. Starting to count to thirty, I ran back to the bathroom, grabbed the small white trash can, and ran back. A second after I shoved it under his mouth, he violently threw up, the peroxide bubbling. I waited two more minutes before removing the trash can.

I've done everything I can, and all I have to do now is wait. As I wait, I take Sherlock's head up in my arms and press it to my chest, whispering words to him, trying hard not to cry. I blink the tears back and take his pulse again. It was still there, but it had slowed and was getting weaker. The slowing of it was fine, that was what the epi pen was suppose to do, but it weakening concerned me. That wasn't good. It meant the poison was quickly winning, even against my efforts to help him. His forehead was soaked with sweat and the washcloth on him was no longer cool. I knew I should go rinse it out, but I was to scared to leave him there. I heard sirens, and rushed to the front door to meet the paramedics. Explaining the problem, I pointed them towards Sherlock and three of four of them rushed off to help while the other stayed behind with me.

The paramedic tried to ask me questions, but I couldn't answer. I saw them bring Sherlock out on the stretcher, and my heart nearly stopped. I fought to get in with him, fear out ruling common sense. They closed the doors and raced towards the hospital. The police officers that had came with them stayed behind, restraining me, as I watched the ambulance disappear. I turned with pleading eyes towards to the two officers.

"Please sir. I need to go. He's my best friend," I barely managed to get out, my voice shaky. "Please. I've almost lost him once already. I can't do that again."

The officer took pity on me and let go. "Take this man to the hospital. I'll stay behind and gather evidence. Go on sir. Go be with your friend."

I managed to mutter thank you, before clambering into the police car. I buckled in and prayed to the good God above that Sherlock would be okay. That no matter what happened, he would live.

At The Hospital

I knew I should've checked in before rushing through the doors that led to where patients were took who were in dire need of any antidote. So it was no surprise when people started to chase me. Swiping an access card, I slipped into a part of the hospital doctors were allowed in.

It was calm and quiet in here. The maze of tunnels and hallways were there to allow doctors to get to patients quicker. The newer doctors often got lost in here, but I knew where every hall and tunnel went. I took a left, heading back towards the chemotherapy department. Once I got there, I emerged from the hidden maze only two doors away from where I wanted to be.

"Doctor Watson! Thank goodness you're here! You're the best one we have when it comes to patients who've been poisoned. There's a man who just came in. We went to do your usual procedure, but it had already been done." a man ran up to me, concern in his voice. "We don't know how someone would have that type of knowledge though."

"Easy. I'm the one who administered the treatment to him. Where is he now? I must see him." I quickened my pace, ignoring the 'hellos' and 'good to see yous' that kept coming at me.

"Room 36, left wing. He's currently being given an anti-poison until lab reports come back. I was going to search for records on him." Luke answered, as we turned a corner.

I gave him the information I knew was wanted. "Sherlock Holmes, 38 years old, birth date is July 14, 1979, lives on 221B Baker Street, no known allergies. Now if you'll excuse me, please go see how long those lab reports will be." I said, ignoring the shocked look on his face.

"Yes sir. Right away sir." Luke ran off, and I turned to look at the door.

Straighten my coat, I pushed them open and walked in, not surprised to see them trying to hold the man down. Thrashing about would only cause the poison to spread, but at least Sherlock was alive. He saw me and calm down a tad bit.

"Sherlock, listen to me, are you feeling okay?" I whispered to him, pushing past the nurses and doctors.

"John. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Hey, it's not your fault. You're going to get over this. You will and I'll be with you the entire time." I grabbed his hand.

I turned to the others in the room. "Would you all please leave? Thank you." I said as they all filed out of the room.

"Could I sit up? All of those other bloody nurses and doctors refused to let me." he asked, and I had to chuckle. Leave it to Sherlock to be able to jump back that quickly.

I shook my head. "And I'm going to be the one who agrees with them. If you move to much, it'll allow the poison to move around quicker. In all, it's safer if you just stay where you are."

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock. I looked at his face, and bit my lip at the sight of the rejected look on it. I moved my hand from his hand to his forehead, checking to see if his fever has broken. I sighed in relief as I felt that it had. He still had a slight one, but thankfully it wasn't as high as before. I gave him a quick hug right before Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and Mycroft burst in.

"John?"

"Mycroft?"

"Lestrade?"

"Anderson?"

"Donovan?"

"Sherlock?"

The names were fired off in such rapid succession by everyone, I'm not sure who said what. I saw Luke standing behind them all with a face that said, 'I tried, but they didn't listen.' He was also holding the lab report.

"Hello everyone. I'm glad you're here, but Mr. Holmes is in no state for visitors right now. So goodbye everyone." I said, pushing them all out the door.

I slammed it shut dispite their protests, and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Luke walked up, and put the report in my hands.

"I'm sorry Doctor Watson. I tried to stop them, I really did. But they all just pushed right through." he apologized.

I clapped my hand on his shoulder. "That's okay Luke. If you wouldn't mind going out there and explaining why Mr. Holmes here cannot have any visitors right now, that would be fantastic."

"Yes Doctor Watson. I will do that."

He stepped out and I could hear the shouting coming from everyone. Sherlock and I chuckled, imagining the face of them all, espically Mycroft. We continued to laugh until he started coughing. I opened the lab report and frowned, as I read the list of everything that was currently in Sherlock's bloodstream. I saw one, and I sighed. Closing the folder, in gave him a disappointed look.

"Sherlock have you been on drugs again? Don't lie, I need the honest truth." I looked the detective square in the eye.

He looks down and admits it. "Just last night. Right after I left your house I might have slightly overdosed on cocaine. I'm sorry John." the shame on his face made me unable to not forgive him.

"Normally I'd lecture you on this, but right now we need to get the cocaine out of your system before we can act on the poison. At least we know how the poison got into your system, and we finally might have a lead on that terrorist cell." I put gloves on my hands and pulled out a new IV bag with a chemical that helped flush anything that shouldn't be in your bloodstream.

"We do? How could that give us any leads?" he questioned.

"Easy," I answered. "Who was your dealer? We find him, we find the lead."

"Wait, what type of poison was in the cocaine?"

I answered with two words.

"Black Widow."

Hey guys! This my longest chapter yet! Thank you so much for the reviews and I hope you enjoy! Please review!

Best Regards,

PFT221B


	6. Chapter 6

John's P.O.V.

The shock on Sherlock's face came to me as no surprise. Black Widow poison was the perfect poison. It was hard to spot and even harder to trace. There was no other way it could've possibly entered his system than drugs, and since he has admitted to slightly overdosing on cocaine, it made since. Secretly I was disappointed in him. He had been doing so well and to see him stoop low again, was hard. I practically adored this man for no other reason than he was brilliant. He was my best friend. So I guess it just might be natural what him to do well.

"Black Widow poison is easy to slip into anything. It has no taste and no smell. You should be glad we caught it in time." I answered the question before it even came out his mouth.

He promptly closed his mouth and I noticed the door open and shut. I was Luke, coming towards me. He looked exhausted. 

"Sir could you please deal with them. They refuse to listen." he panted.

"I'll get this Luke. Please replace the current IV bag with this one and then give him five millimeters of morphine. No more, no less." I pulled off my gloves, throwing them in the trash.

Luke nodded. "Yes sir," he grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and took the IV.

I slipped out and rolled my eyes at the sight of everyone arguing. Mycroft saw me and sneared. I just looked on with the patient attitude every doctor should have. Even if they were surrounded with idiots.

"John, let us in already. Why didn't you tell us that Sherlock was in the hospital? This is an outrage!" Mycroft shouted.

I turned on him. "The title is Doctor Watson and you shall address me as so while we are here. No one will be allowed in the patient's room without their permission and their doctor's. You have neither of those at this moment." I answered crossly.

"I'm a police officer, I can get a warrant." Donovan said, and Lestrade nodded in agreement.

"It's not valid as long as they patient remains in this hospital." I shot back. "Besides Mr. Holmes has no desire to see at least two of you."

Mycroft started. "Well he's my brother you have to let me in."

"As long as the patient wishes to see you, yes. I cannot and will not deny any family member from seeing a patient unless the patient does not want to see them." I held my ground in the argument.

"Would you please ask Sherlock then if he..." the older Holmes was cut off by an alarm going off.

"Code blue, code blue. All help needed in room 36, left wing. I repeat code blue." a voice came over the speakers.

I swung around, a panic stricken look coming through my eyes. I ran in to see Luke starting to set up an infibulator. 

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. I was giving him the morphine when he flatlined. I'm not allowed to give CPR so I did the best I could."

"Understood. You," I said, pointing at a nurse who has just came in. "Start chest compressions. Have him take over in two minutes."

I ran out of the room, searching for emergency mouth-to-mouth piece. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. I merely kept going searching room by room. When I finally found what I was looking for, I ran back. You couldn't see it, but the pressure of the fact my best friend could be dying was starting to get to me. I handed the mouth piece to another doctor who had came in, and shouted my orders. The heart monitor was still flatlined, and that was scaring me. I ran down to the lab and searched for the antidote to Black Widow poison. I finally found it and ran back up. 

When I got back to the room they had stopped chest compressions and the heat monitor had a slow beep. Maybe seven beats a minute, but fortunately it was enough to keep him alive.

I disconnected the morphine and put in the antidote instead. Now it was just a matter of if we got to him in time or not. The room went deadly silent, as three nurses, two doctors, and Luke stood there just waiting. Sherlock took in a short, shuddering gasp, and the heartbeat increased to a much more normal rate. Everyone clapped and hugged each other, knowing that they had just saved a life. I stood there, wanting to cry. I had managed to save Sherlock this time, but could I do it again? One wrong move on my end and he could end up dead. And it would be my fault. Maybe he was right. Maybe we should just solve the case and then enjoy our last few days together.

"Doctor Watson? Are you okay sir? Do you need to sit down?" Luke was talking to me.

"Huh? Oh, I'm fine just slightly shocked." I pushed his hand away and continued to stare at Sherlock, who was starting to stir. "Could everyone just leave. Please? I'll call you back, if I need you."

They all left and I sat down next to Sherlock's bed. For this moment I was John, Sherlock's best friend, not Doctor Watson. He stirred again, and I felt hot tears rolling down my checks. This was to close. Way to close. Just a few seconds later and he would've been gone. And for what? A stupid terrorist cell that had something against my best friend.

I put my head in my hands. It was my fault. I had yelled at him. I was the reason he had suddenly needed to get high. How could've I done this to him? I got up and wrote out a note, explaining where I was and why I wasn't there. Laying it on the table next to him, I left the room. I told Mycroft he could go in, and ordered Luke to watch out for Sherlock.

I left the hospital, making my way to 221B Baker Street, mainly to fetch my car. It was parked a few blocks away. I got in and turned the ignition. The next thing I knew was smoke, fire, and a giant explosion and that I most likely was never to see Sherlock or anyone else again.

Because he wasn't the only one trying to be assionated.


	7. Chapter 7

John's P.O.V.

My head's pounding, and all I can smell is smoke. I try to open my eyes, to find that it just makes my head hurt worse. I close them and lean back. I hear someone shouting my name. I try to look around again. The world is a blur. I'm moving. Someone's asking me questions. I can't say anything. I feel like I'm sinking. The next thing I know I'm in a deep pit of unconsciousness.

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I'm barely able to make out anything. I hear faint beeping and someone breathing. Whoever is sitting next to me doesn't know yet that I'm awake. That's okay though because I don't think can stay awake much longer. He looks over and sees me drifting back off. He says my name and shakes me. I wish he would stop. It was all so painful. I just want him to stop.

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I'm awake again. This time the person next to me notices instantly. He shouts my name. Or at least I thinks it's my name. My body is on fire. Fire. That reminds me of something. Something that I had warn someone about. Someone who depends on me. But I can't remember what. Something about an explosion. And this someone was depending on me. But he shouldn't. The person shakes me and I just want him to stop. It hurts. It hurts so bad. I feel waterdrops hit my face. Is it raining? Am I outside? I look up and through the blur I can see that it the person. He's crying. Why is he crying? Something was wrong with this picture. I don't have much time to ponder it, because I quickly black out again.

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Sherlock's P.O.V.

I blinked several times. I see a man standing over me and see that it is the PA John had been talking with. Behind him, watching his every move, stood my brother. I felt slightly honored to have earned the looks of my older brother.

I tried to sit up. "Where's John?" were the first words out of mouth.

"Doctor Watson? He left a little while ago. Said he had some important things to do. He left me here to watch over you." the PA, Luke was his name, smiled broadly at me. "He also left a note over on that table for you."

I picked it up, and hesitantly unfolded. Huh, I hesitated. That's a new quality. The words were written in a messy scrawl compared to normal, which meant he must've been in a hurry. I read through the note, dread filling every ounce of me.

Sherlock,

Sorry about this all. If I hadn't yelled at you, you wouldn't have have had the urge to get high, accidently overdose, get poisoned, and barely survive. You're probably better off without me. I'll deliver the case files to your flat, and then I urge you not to contact me again.

I'm going to go back to my house, and recover from the shock of this all. And then I'll go back to work. I'm going to continue with normal day to day life. I want you to do the same. Solve a few murders, compose some music, enjoy your days without me.

I'm sorry again Sherlock. I didn't mean to put you through this. 

Your best friend,  
John Watson

Panic struck me. Something was going to happen and it wouldn't be good. I looked desperately towards Mycroft, knowing he would be able to tell me where John was.

"Where's John?" I coughed out. Mycroft refused to look at me or even answer my question. "Please Mycroft. I need to know. This is really important to me." 

"There was just an explosion five minutes ago two blocks away from Baker Street. They're looking for survivors now." he admitted.

I jumped out of the bed, adrenaline filling my veins. I ran out of the hospital and got the nearest cab. The cab driver took me where I wanted and I threw a random coin at him. He yelled about it not being enough, but I didn't care. I ran into my flat and put some real clothes on. I ran back down and gave the cabbie the correct amount. I then rushed towards the smoke, my trench coat flowing behind me.

Two police officers stopped me, saying that it was to dangerous to go that way. I fought them, yelling John's name as loud as I could. I saw the paramedics bring out his body, and I could see the burn marks all along his arms and face.

My heart stopped and the adrenaline in my veins disappeared. Between the explosion and poison that had only been recently expelled from me, I couldn't take it. I collapsed in officers arms blacking out.

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I awoke back in the hospital, Luke standing next to me again. This time, a bunch of wires weren't connected to me. Luke saw me and smiled.

"Ah good, Mr. Holmes. You're awake. If you feel up to it, your brother wishes for you to go visit Doctor Watson." his smile remained, but was clearly forced.

The explosion and John being carried out of it, sudden came back to me. "I'm up to it. Where is he? I have to see him now."

"Room 476, northeast wing. Just a few doors down from here."

"What room is this?" I asked.

"Room 455. I'd hurry if I was you. He's been fading in and out for a while now!" Luke shouted.

I had never ran so fast in my life. I burst into room which was empty of everyone, except John. I sat down next to his bed and gently held his hand. I sat like this for a while before whispering something to my best friend.

"Please don't die John. I need you..."

His eyes fluttered and I said his name and shook him softly. Dispite my efforts he still drifted back to sleep.

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"Oh gosh! I'm sorry sir! I didn't know anyone, but the patient was in here. Is he your brother?" a nurse came in, surprising me, and I her.

"No. He's only my best friend. Is he going to be okay?" I questioned. "He's not going to die is he?"

The nurse shakes her head. "He's not going to die, but he is extremely hurt."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I'm afraid he'll most likely never be able to walk again."

"What?"

"Your friend is paralyzed." she says in extremely sad tone.

All I can do is hug John and mumble his name. Before I know it, I'm crying.

And sociopaths aren't suppose to cry.


	8. Chapter 8

John's P.O.V.

I haven't seen Sherlock for days now. I remember vaguely seeing him the day I was told about my legs. I was shocked when I heard about it and I've tried multiple times to move them, but I couldn't even feel them. I hated it. It left me feeling so useless. I guess that's why Sherlock hadn't came around much. He didn't want to be around someone who couldn't walk.

I sighed, leaning backwards on the bed. I so wanted out of this place. As a doctor I was accustomed to being here a lot. But now I understood how staring at a white wall for hours on end could be so boring and why so many patients went crazy.

Smirking, I decided to have a little fun. Leaning as far I could, I pressed the automatic flatline button on the back of the heart moniter. If I didn't remove the finger clip within 30 seconds an alarm would sound out a code blue. Laying flat on my back, I put the eating tray on my chest, which made it hard to see that I was breathing. Counting down from five the normal alert sounded. I snickered and closed my eyes. I could get in so much trouble for this, but it was worth it.

Nurses and doctors ran in and started to set everything up. I tried to hold it in, but I ended up bursting into tears, I was laughing so hard. They all glared at me and left the room. It was then I noticed Sherlock standing in the door frame, a slightly worried look on his face. My smile faded and I looked away, unable to face him.

"John. How are you doing?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Okay I guess. Just really bored. Hence the reason I pulled that small prank."

"I guess it's better than shooting holes in the wall."

"If I had a gun and if it would decorate the walls, I'd more than gladly do that! I am so bored. I hate white walls. I now know why patients who are here for a long time go crazy." I laughed, my smile returning for a split second.

We both went silent, staring at the wall. I looked down, knowing what we were about to talk about was probably going to ruin our friendship forever. Squeezing my eyes shut, a single tear fell, a small detail Sherlock did not miss. He looked at me, emptiness and sadness being the main emotions on his face.

Another tear fell. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't mean for this to happen. If I had just listened to you none of this would be like it is now. I understand if you don't wish to be around me any more. I mean, who would? I can't even walk anymore. Might as well go die." I whispered the end part, trying to hold back even more tears.

"What? No! Don't even dare think something like that John Hamish Watson! You are very much needed here. And what about Mary and Sherby? Are you just going to leave them behind. I'm sure your wife, not to mention your one year old daughter, isn't going to love you any less on the fact if you can walk or not." the detective shouted at me, staring me in the eye.

I noticed here didn't put his thoughts on the subject in there. Maybe I was right. He didn't want to be around someone who was helpless like me. As much as the thought hurt, I had to allow for every option, good or bad. I looked away from his face, the tears coming steadily now. I pushed my face into a pillow to hide a sob. Unfortunately, it didn't help. I was soon full out crying and didn't try to hide it. I could tell I was making Sherlock uncomfortable, but the last thing expected was him to try and sooth me.

"Hey now. Don't cry." he wrapped his arms around me. "I can't stand to see my best friend break down right in front of me. I know it's hard not being able to walk, but please. If possible, let me help. I want to so badly, so tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. Just please forgive me." I sobbed into his shirt, suddenly all thoughts of him hating me gone. "Please Sherlock, please. That's all I ask. Hate me, leave me alone, do whatever you want to me, just please. Forgive me."

"John. John Watson. Look at me. You're my best friend. The only human alive that could make this sociopath feel anything. I'd be a fool to hate you and I promise you, I won't leave you alone until the day I die. John Watson, a solider, a doctor, a loving husband and father, my best friend, my only friend, I forgive you for everything. There's not one thing in this entire world that I don't forgive you for. I just have one request." Sherlock said, looking me dead in the eye, his voice not wavering once.

"What's that?" I managed to say through my tears.

"John Watson, please, one day, I beg you, walk again. For me."

I embraced him in a hug and gave him a promise. "Sherlock Holmes, I promise you, one day, I will walk again. For you." 

And for a minute in our lives, everything was good.


	9. Chapter 9

John's P.O.V.

I frowned as Shelock left my room. Mainly because I wasn't sure if the promise I had just made was totally debatable if I could keep it or not. While I may never walk again, I knew one thing for certain. I would never stop trying. Til the day I died, I would try to walk again. Try to be worth something again.

Worth something. According to Sherlock I was worth something. I was his friend and the only one who could honestly make him smile. If that wasn't worth something, I don't know what is.   
I was so relieved that Sherlock had forgiven me. That he didn't hold any grudge against me. It might've been stupid to think he did, but I was honestly scared that he might not want to be around someone who couldn't walk and I told him that. He quickly put those fears to rest, saying there was no one in this world who could replace me. 

I still couldn't walk, I hadn't seen or talked to my wife in weeks, and my best friend was still scheduled to die in twenty-six days, but at least he didn't hate me. Even in this situation, there was some sunshine peeking through the clouds. I sighed happily and leaned back, closing my eyes for a second. Boy, was that ever a mistake...

I was on a ship, the deck swaying wildly, and the waves coming up and over the railings. I could see no crew or any passengers. It looked deserted and old. Seeing what looked like the door to the captain's quarters. I ran inside slamming the door shut behind me. When I turned around, I was face to face with Sherlock.

"Ahh! Sherlock you scared me." I said, trying to be cheerful and walked around him only to stop dead in my tracks.

Lying there, was the corpse of Sherlock, shot in the head, blood still oozing out of the wound. The Sherlock I had saw when I walked in, came and stared at me, a look of disgust on his face.

"Look at that John. Your best friend, lying on the floor, dead. And why you ask? Because of YOU!" he shouted, making me shrink back in terror. "YOU let him die! YOU didn't save him! YOU are the reason he's dead John! And you have to live with it. You have to live with it for the rest of your life. Of course, you could make your life shorter, prove to him your sorry."

I was close to sobbing and got closer every time he yelled. "What do you mean?" I managed to say.

He held a gun out to me, placing it in my hands, and holding another one to his head. "Boom." 

"Oh." my hands shook as I held it up to my head.

I cocked it and took a breath. Any second now I would be dead...

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I heard the alarm go off and almost hesitated. He was just fine a minute ago when I left. Was he pulling another prank? I walked briskly back to the room, to find it wasn't a pranks this time. He was actually in a code blue situation. I stood back and looked on with scared eyes, wishing I could help. I had been informed by my PA, Luke, that John was the only reason I was still alive, the least I could do was repay the debt.

I watched as they did CPR. Two minutes later they shouted clear, and shocked him. Right after that they began the chest compressions again. After three rounds of this, I got on my knees next to him, whispering in his ear, begging him to wake up. Nothing seemed to be working. A small idea came to me and I used it as a last feeble attempt.

"John Watson you promised me you would walk again."

John's P.O.V.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears continued to fall. Right as I went to pull the trigger I heard Sherlock speak again, though it was kind of blurry and distant. 

"John Watson, you promised me you would walk again."

I stayed there, gun to my head, finger on the trigger. I didn't know what to do. One Sherlock told me the end this all. The other reminded me of a promise.

"John if you die today, I will never forgive you for it. Please, wake up, wake up, wake up..."

The words 'wake up' echoed through my brain. I fell backwards, the ship disappearing, and my head hit what felt like a pillow. Something was pushing on my chest and everyone in a while a shock would go through me. I took a shuddered breath and everything went silent around me. Soon a round of applause went up and arms squeezed me, the owner whispering in my ear.

"Thank goodness. John thank you. Thank you for not dying."

I tried to talk, but I was to exhausted. All I could do was lean my head back and fall asleep...

Ten Hours Later

I woke up to a snoring Sherlock. He was sitting on the chair next to my bed, head resting on his hand, sleeping. I reached over and grabbed his wrist, checking to make sure he was real. The slight touch though awoken him.

"What's wrong! What's going on! Who died!" the detective woke up frantically.

"I don't think anyone's died so far, unless we both are dead." I said softly. "Which would be better than just one of us."

"Oh John! You're awake! Thank god!" he hugged me, a few teardrops slidding down his checks and hitting my face.

"I am, aren't I?" I chuckled.

He glared ferociously at me. "Don't ever do that to me again John Watson! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he shouted.

"Hey don't be mad at me! I wasn't trying to die." 

"I'm not mad John, I'm scared. I can't keep doing this. I don't want to keep doing this. Please John, next time I'm dying, just let me. I don't want to hurt anyone else." he begged and I just couldn't tell him no.

But at the same time, I could. "No."

"What?"

"I said no. I will not just let you die Sherlock! That's not what best friends do! I tell you what, you and I are going to break out of this damn hospital, and we're going to solve a case! And we're going to do it tonight! And if anyone should try to stop us, hehe, I'd like to see them try!"

A determined look was in Sherlock's eyes and I had to smile. Because tonight I'm breaking out.


	10. Chapter 10

John's P.O.V.

I listened hard. It was around eleven thirty and I could hear the faint footsteps coming towards my room. Sherlock would be here any second know with real clothes and an access card he swiped of another doctor. The door opened and then quickly shut.

"John? Are you still awake?" he questioned.

"Awake and ready to go." I answered glad it was dark in here. "Do you have it?"

"Yep. Follow me. We're getting out of here." he held the door open as I went through, slower because of the wheelchair I was forced to use.

As we entered the dimly lit halls I fought hard to avoid Sherlock's eyes. I didn't want him to see the fact that I was ashamed of the wheelchair. We went up to a door and swiped the card, flinching at the faint beep. 

"Ready?" I heard Sherlock ask.

"Ready. Let's go and stay close. These halls and tunnels can be super confusing." I warned. "Just stay with me and we should be fine."

It was a ten minute walk to the single entrance that lead outside. This entrance was in case of emergencies or if doctors needed to step outside for a second. We went through it, breathing in the cool air of night time London. It was nice to be out of that stuffy hospital. 

"Where to now?" I asked.

Sherlock pointed an northeastern direction. "Your house. We'll get a cab and then some rest before getting to work on this case."

We had to go three blocks before we were able to pull over a cab. On the way there, Sherlock addressed something that I was surprised he even thought about and the fact he actually read the note I left for him.

"John, did you really mean it?"

I looked at him for a second. "Mean what?"

"That I shouldn't contact you again. That everything was your fault?" Sherlock questioned, curiosity filling his voice.

"Yes," I nodded. "I really did mean it. I yelled at you and that caused an entire domino effect. I mean, look where we are now. You're recovering from poison, I can't walk, and we're breaking out of a hospital. If that isn't enough reason not to be around me anymore, I don't know what is." I gave a weak laugh. 

The detective was silent. I heard nothing more than the normal sounds of the streets of London. I had a feeling that my words had upset him, and was just as uncomfortable as he was. Thankfully a cab pulled up. 

Sherlock helped me in, giving me that useless and empty feeling once more. He folded up the wheelchair, putting it in the back and got in himself. The cab driver gave me a small look of pity.

"Where to boys?" he asked.

I answered quickly. "1755 Mangolia Way sir."

The entire ride was silent. When we finally got there, Sherlock got out and set up the wheel chair for me once more, as I paid the driver. With Sherlock's assistance, I got out and up the three steps that led to my front door. I unlocked the door and rolled in. I frowned as I saw the look of everything.

Sherlock surprised me, as he set about to cleaning everything. He didn't once glance my way or say anything. I cast my eyes downward, remembering the dream of the ship earlier. Part of me wanted to go back, pull the trigger of that gun. The other knew I couldn't, wouldn't, break Sherlock's heart like that. But I felt so helpless, unable to do anything. So I mainly sat and stared slowly nodding off. Before I knew it, I was sound asleep.

Eight Hours Later

I awoke in my bed, Sherlock on the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable. I went to get up, when I remembered I couldn't. I sighed and tried to go back to sleep. I didn't have the heart to awake the detective. I knew he wouldn't mind, but still.

Deciding to try getting out of bed myself, I turned my legs towards the edge of the bed so they were hanging limply. I slid off, and tried to put weight on them, but as soon as I did, I crumpled to the floor. Sherlock moved as quick lightning. 

"Oh gosh, John! What happened?" he moved around to help me up.

I felt the tears coming again. "Just trying to get out of bed. I didn't want to wake you." I muttered.

"Oh John, you should've. I would've helped you. You should know that. I'll always help you." he put me on the wheelchair, which I was starting to hate as much as the color white.

"I know. I just hate it. It makes me feel so helpless and worthless." 

"Must I tell you again? You aren't worthless, and so what? You need a little help getting around. That doesn't make you helpless. You just have to trust me. Sometimes accepting help saves your life." he looked meaningful at me, showing that what he was saying was true. "Now come on. Let's make breakfast and then get back to work on this case."

Well both headed that way a small piece of me reinsured. Both by that distraction we both managed to miss an extremely important detail.

We missed the two pairs of eyes, starting in on us.


	11. Chapter 11

John's P.O.V.

"Okay then, so leads. If we plan to get anywhere on this, we need a lead." Sherlock started.

"Your dealer is a good place to start. If we find where he got the cocaine, than we might be able to find some link to the terrorist cell." I suggested. "And if that doesn't work, well, then, I don't really know."

"We'll figure something out. But since that's all we have right now, we might as well head out."

He started to walk out, trench coat and all. When I didn't follow, he looked curiously at me. "Well? Are you coming?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I should just stay here. It'll be easier for you than having to help me around everywhere. And if you end up in one of your normal chase scenes, I wouldn't be able to follow." I reasoned.

"That may be true, but I wouldn't leave you behind. I'd be with you before anything else. Come on now. We don't have all day and I need a partner. It's not like I'm going to ask Anderson to come and work with me. That would be disastrous." he shook his head violently at the thought.

"Go on Sherlock," I told him. "I'll be right here when you get back. Just go get our lead. I'll come next time." 

The detective's look of excitement disappeared, being replaced with a look of sadness. "If you insist." 

I bit my lip as he walked out the door. Never before have I felt so guilty about refusing to go somewhere. I shrugged though and turned back to the case files. He would be fine. This was Sherlock Holmes we were talking about after all.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I closed the door slowly behind me. I hated to say it, but I really had no desire to go investigate this lead without John. I don't know what got into him. So he couldn't walk. That didn't mean he was any less my friend. I don't see why something so small could effect a man who had saved my life numerous times. 

I tried to feel what he was feeling, how ashamed I might be because of a silly wheelchair. He had tried to let in not show through, but he was thoroughly embarrassed by it and I had just chosen now to say anything, to try to be somewhat polite.

A sharp car horn brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw the tall building most of the dealers hung about in. Weird how I could get here without even thinking about it. I just knew where it was.

At that thought, anger rosed inside of me. My stupid drug habits had started this all. I was the reason for my best friend being stuck in a wheelchair. He should've just let me die. I didn't deserve to be saved. Suddenly I was angry at not just myself, but at what was in this building. I marched up the stairs, looking for Rico, the dealer I normally bought from.

"Ah Sherlock! Back for more so soon? I sold you quite a bit last time." the dealer snuck up behind me.

I laughed. "As if. No, I want to know where you got it from." I demanded.

"And what, please do tell, makes you think I'd give you that information? I'm sworn to not say a word." 

I picked him up by his shirt. "Now listen and listen closely. If you value your poor miserable life you will tell me what I need to know, and you'll tell me now." I whispered into his ear. "So where did you get it from?"

"Hehe. I'll never tell. If die today nothing will go to waste. I'm a drug dealer, I have nothing." he snarked.

I looked at him carefully. "Nothing except a five year old son who'll be very disappointed if his father doesn't come home tonight."

His eyes grew wide. "How did you know about William? I never told you."

"No need to. The way you hold yourself does all the talking. Now tell me, or I will make sure your son suffers."

"Alright! I got from someone who said they wanted you dead before they launched the real attack because they knew you were the only one who could stop them. He never said his name just told me the group's name was Black Fear. Please. Just don't hurt William." the man splurged the information I wanted to me.

I dropped him on the ground, kicking the disgusting piece of filth away from me. I walked out of the stupid building, swearing never to return. Black Fear though. I knew I had heard of this group before. They left very few leads, no evidence, and was a very low profile cell. But even than I still had a valuable piece of information. 

I knew where their main hot spot was.

John's P.O.V.

I jumped in surprise when Sherlock burst through my front door. He looked excited and I couldn't tell you why. At least he did get over the fact I hadn't came with him. Besides I'm pretty sure I didn't want to know what threat he made to get his dealer to talk. Probably something horrible.

"So what did you find out?" I questioned.

"What did I find out? Only the name of the group and their main hot spot! This case will be cracked in a jiffy! But we will need back up. I would be a fool to think the two of us could take on this cell alone! I'm going to call Lestrade." he picked up the phone, dialing a number.

"Yes, hello. Is this Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking. Good. This is Sherlock. Where am I? It doesn't matter just send all the backup you can get to the old underground prison where we once hit that first terrorist cell. Yes he's with me, why do you ask? Bloody hell he can't! If wants to he'll come and you and the entire British army can't stop him! We are a team Lestrade, we start as a team, we end as a team, we die as a team. If John Watson wants to achieve something, I like to see you try to stop him. See you in an hour." he hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Do you want to come along this time?" he asked, and I nearly missed the pleading note in his voice.

I looked down, knowing I was about to break his heart. "No. Go without me. I'll only be in the way." 

"No you won't! You'll be excellent help! Besides, you're my partner, my teammate, my friend. I need you there."

"Sherlock, just think about it for a second. I will be in the way, you and I both know it. I'm sorry, but I just can't solve cases with you anymore."

The rejected look in his eyes made me want to cry. "I understand. I'm sorry."

He left quickly and quietly. A tear slid down my face and I know one slid down his.


	12. Chapter 12

John's P.O.V.

I sat there, staring at wall, completely bored. I knew it was a good thing I hadn't gone, I would only get in the way. But part of me couldn't help, but think about that look on Sherlock's face when I told him I shouldn't solve cases with him. It reminded me of the look a baby got when you took away their bottle or toy. Rejected, alone, scared, sad. These were all things that described what I had seen on his face. And it hurt. It hurt to do that to him, but it was necessary he stayed away from me.

I rolled down the hall opening a door at the end. I scavenged around it a little bit before I felt the familiar feel of steel. It was loaded with three bullets and was only for emergencies. What I needed it for most defiantly qualified as one.

I turned on the radio, a grim smile spreading across my face. Never has a song fit so well. Leaning back some, I put the gun to my head, and returned to the ship...

"I knew you couldn't resist the temptation." Sherlock chuckled.

It was just as I remembered it. The swaying ship, the giant waves, the dead body. He was still holding a gun to his head and I held one to mine. Secretly I knew this could only end one way, and no one would like the result. The music faded in and out, not entirely clear until I years the chorus.

He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away her memory  
Life is short but this time it was bigger  
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees  
We found him with his face down in the pillow  
With a note that said I'll love her till I die  
And when we buried him beneath the willow  
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby

La, la, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

"Come on. You know you want to do this. You don't want to hurt Sherlock anymore than you already have. Just one little pull and this'll all be over. Do it. I know you have what it takes." Sherlock whispered.

I shook my head. "No. This isn't what he wants. He needs me."

"That's what he says. He's only trying to make you feel good. He's a sociopath remember? He doesn't care about anyone or feel anything. He'll be happy when you're gone." he hissed.

"No, that can't be true. He cares. I know he does." my heart racing. "He's my best friend."

"No he doesn't. He doesn't care. He wants you dead. He doesn't want to be around a man who can't walk. He could care less if you live. He hates you!" the voices pounced on me, attacking like a pack of wolves. 

I screamed in terror as actual wolves started running towards me, snarling. The voices, the wolves, the temptation, it was all to much. I fell to my knees as they all piled on me, one by one. I heard another voice, one I once thought I could trust. But as the betrayed me once more, I knew I couldn't.

"You're worthless! You're useless! You're nobody! You're the reason I'm in this bloody situation. I'm hope you're happy, you piece of filth." 

I looked up to see Sherlock smirking, and with a final kick, I knew that everything he said was true. And so I pulled the trigger.

BANG! 

And the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I was heading back to John's house mainly because I had forgotten to grab my coat. I was three houses away when I heard the gun shot. Knowing it couldn't have came from anywhere else I ran as fast as I possibly could, my brain screaming to hurry up and get there.

I stormed in the door and wasn't sure to be surprised or scared as I entered the living room. When I got there, I stopped. My heart skipped a few beats as I all I could do was collapse, tears streaming down my face...


	13. Chapter 13

John's P.O.V.

When Sherlock fell on his knees, I almost had a heart-attack. I didn't think of anything that could be wrong, and then I recalled it. The gunshot, the song. I could see how this might concern him. I guess it's a good thing I was careful not to shoot myself. I had merely fired at the wall. As I looked closer, I saw that he was crying, that actual tears we're falling down his face.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" I whispered.

"Oh John. Thank the Lord above you're alright. I was so scared you had done it. That you were gone. Please, don't ever do that to me again." he sobbed.

I moved over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Oh gosh. I'm so sorry Sherlock. I wasn't trying to scare you, I just wanted to, you know, how close I could go before backing out.

"Why? Why would you want to leave me alone on this wretched earth?" he muttered. "I still need you John."

He still needed me? Why would he need anyone never the less me? I guess he wasn't truely a sociopath after all. "Need me? Why do you need me?" I questioned.

"Because my entire life not a single person has ever been behind me. They all would say, 'Oh look, there goes that stupid detective with all his crazy ideas and hopes and dreams.' or 'That'll fail. It's not physically possible for it to happen." But you never said any of those things. You believed I could do something. You're the only one who ever has. You gave me hope that one day, I could actually succeed."

My throat went dry, guilty that I had almost left the man who needed me so much that he had let down his facade to show true emotion. I put the gun in his hands, after I had removed the bullets. He looked up at me, surprised of my actions.

"Take it. Get rid of it. Just get the temptation away from me. I, I don't deserve a friend like you." I said. "I never deserved a friend like you."

"Come on now. Don't lie to yourself. You're the kindest person in the world. Lying to yourself will only ruin that. It's the first seed of self-doubt. Now I need to get rid of this." he said this with such a sneer you might've thought it was a bag of liver. "And then I must return to my original destination of an underground terrorist cell operation. Could I maybe convince you to come with me?" he gave me a meaningful look.

"I'm serious when I tell you that I would just be in the way. This is something you have to do by yourself." I insisted.

He frowned, but nodded. "Okay, you may be right, but you listen here John Watson, and you listen well. If I come back and find you dead or trying to kill yourself, I'll bring you back to life and kill you myself," he glared as hard as he could.

"Don't worry, I promise you, you won't find me dead."

"Well then, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a crime scene to get to." he walked away slowly, nervousness throughout his body showing. 

He slid into his coat, and quickly spun on me. "John I'm serious. Please don't leave me while I'm out."

"I promise you Sherlock. I won't do anything stupid."

"Your life's not your own John," he said. "Keep your hands off it."

He left me pondering what exactly he meant and feeling extremely guilty for what I had just about done...

Sherlock's P.O.V.

"Your life's not your own John," I has said. "Keep your hands off it." 

I knew he would be confused with that message. And to tell the truth, I was counting on it. I didn't want him to die, I really didn't. But he was stubborn. Oh was he ever. I trusted him with my life, but after that little incident, I'd be an idiot to trust him with his own. 

I didn't want to doubt him. I just wanted him to live. So my own death was scheduled in twenty-four days. And yes I only had him and few others. It didn't mean I wanted him to take his own life. I loved that man dearly. He was my best friend. My only friend. I once told him I don't have 'friends'. I wasn't lying. I only have one.

I was desperate to solve this case because I wanted to have more time to spend with John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and believe it or not, Mycroft. He may be the biggest pain in the neck, to put it nicely, in the universe, but he was still my brother. I still loved him, whatever that word meant.

Arriving at the old terrorist hideout, I quickly found Lestrade. Mainly because he was running at me.

"Oh good, you showed up. Now RUN. You don't want to see this." he stopped to talk for a slight second before sprinting off again.

I looked the direction he was coming from and nearly panicked. 

"Oh god..."


	14. Chapter 14

John's P.O.V.

I sat there, staring blankly at the Tv. It was a really good thing I hadn't gone. There was no way in hell I could've gotten out of there in time. In fact I'm not sure Sherlock got out of there. 

"So far into the search of the central trading tower, they have found no survivors. Sixty-eight people lay dead from the explosion path. Only two people survived, both practically non-injured. The two are Detective Inspeter Lestrade and semi famous Sherlock Holmes. Both are being taken in to be checked for radiation poison and mental trama. We also hope to question them for information on the fire ball. Between our London's emergency force and our military force, the Americans are sending over 200 troups to help mo..." the reporter announced.

I cut her off mid sentence, not really caring if the Americans were about to go and start World War III. Sherlock was okay and that's all that mattered. Leaning back, I frowned and the words Sherlock had told me earlier. I still hadn't figured it out.

"Your life isn't your own so keep your hands off it." I muttered the words he had told me. 

How was my life not my own? It didn't make sense. I sighed, a sense of realization coming over me. He wasn't saying that it wasn't my own life, but that I wouldn't be the one affected by my death. I'd be dead. That's all that would happen. But others, the ones who cared about me, would have to deal with so much. 

I turned the television back on just in time to see Lestrade being questioned. Behind him stood Sherlock, who looked extremely uncomfortable with how many cameras were pointing at him. Lestrade wasn't much better though. His body was stiff, and both men were in rough shape, clothes slightly burned and cuts where flying metal and debri had been thrown at them from the explosion. 

"Detective Inspector, what exactly happened back there at the tunnel?" a man with a small, yet shaggy, mustache asked.

"Well there was an explosion from the..." he started to say when a woman interrupted him.

The woman had dark, shoulder length, brown hair. She held herself sharply, and was very disturbing. One eye a deep blue and the other was steel grey. It gave her a nerve pinching look. Someone you wouldn't readily want to mess with.

"Yes, yes," she scoffed, "we know that. But what else happened there? What caused us the explosion? Why was it a ball of rolling fire? Why were you there in the first place? Please don't waste our time on piddle paddle."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with fury and I shrank back in my seat, glad I wasn't there. If Sherlock was scary through a telie, I'd hate to see what he was like in real life.

"Mam, we have narrowly escaped with our lives only a mere 45 minutes ago. We are both slightly in shock and have no want or use for your attitude. So I ask you to kindly back off or leave," Sherlock's words rolled off his tounge like they were venomous. "Now. We are not answering anymore questions about the fireball. If there is anything else please speak up now."

The man with beard spoke again. "Yes. What were you doing there? Out of pure curiosity," the man asked, clearly no desire of harm or hatred in his voice.

Sherlock regarded him closely. "Trying to catch a terrorist cell. That's the last question and we're done here."

Lestrade opened his mouth, looked at the consulting detective, and closed it again. Both walked out of the room and the main reporter popped back up.

"Now, with some footage of the explosion," she said calmly.

I started to shake as soon as I watched the short twenty second video. I was suddenly terrified. Closing my eyes, I was back in Afghanistan, bombs exploding all around me. I heard an RPG go off and turned my head towards the landing place. I looked back towards the low bunker, where everyone was hiding. I heard the low sound of a rifle. A sniper rifle. I felt the bullet go through my shoulder, and slowly I hit the ground...

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I was enraged when that woman inturupted Lestrade. She wasn't only rude, but unsettling too. Something about her was suspicious. I didn't like it one bit. 

We were released from the hospital as soon as the reports for radiation poisoning came back clear. Lestrade had a bandage around his head, and I had one on my right forearm. Our clothes were singed and smelled of smoke, but other than that, we were in excellent condition. We shook hands and he headed off towards the police department. I headed back to my flat to get some fresh clothing and then headed back to John's.

I ran up the front steps, and used the key I had snatched a while back to open the locked door. John was sitting in his wheelchair, twitching. The Tv was on a channel explaining the explosion. I quickly switched it off, and turned to John, who still sat twitching violently and soft tears on his cheeks. Touching his shoulder, his eyes tore open and he bolted. Well he tried to bolt. He merely fell out of the chair and I barely caught him. Tears were still falling and I wiped them away softly. 

"John? John can you hear me? Is everything okay?" I questioned softly.

"It hurts," was all he said. "Just make the pain go away Coburn. Just make it all go away."

Coburn. That had been the man who had died in battle for John when he was shot. He must've seen the explosion and had a relaspe. Now he thought he was still in the war, bombs exploding, guns firing, men shouting.

I had no clue what to do. When he had nightmares of the war I knew ice often helped, along with raw rice. But a relapse was different. What would help him here?

My phone rang and I rolled my eyes at the caller I.D. Mycroft. Flipping it open, I answered annoyed.

"What?" I hissed.

The person on the other end was anyone, but my brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fanfiction world! It is I, PFT221B! This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I hope you enjoyed the start! Please review!
> 
> Best Regards,  
> PFT221B


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